


telepathic heart

by kimaracretak



Category: Dare Me (TV 2019)
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27205498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: They look happy. They look like they don't know this is wrong.
Relationships: Beth Cassidy/Addy Hanlon, Colette French/Addy Hanlon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43
Collections: Fic In A Box





	telepathic heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



> I don't wanna let you go  
> But I can't stand to watch this  
> I don't wanna let you know  
> But you can read my mind  
> — 'Telepathic', Starset

The thing about Coach is, she doesn't actually spend that much time in the locker rooms. On the field, on the gym floor, she's inescapable, pale and blonde with her lips set in a hard thin line saying: _I'm watching you_. Beth hates her for it, has since the moment her shiny black heels crossed the gravel of the faculty parking lot, impractical and unfairly stable, like: _I'm here, and I don't belong here, and you're going to love me anyway_.

And the worst part is, it was true. Beth likes being watched, always has, and she doesn't know how to turn it off just because it's Coach staring at her, instead of -

It doesn't matter, at least, not in the way she wants it to. She can let go of the floor for now, let it be a battleground instead of a little pocket of the realm she's carved out for herself, but it's not like that in the locker rooms. There, Beth finds some measure of sanctuary, not that she would ever admit to needing it. There's something ... nice about being there, the steady thrum of the water beating down on her tired muscles, the glitter-flecked water swirling around her feet. She's practising on her own, the makeup, the stretches, the routines that Coach thinks she has her finely manicured nails sunk deep enough into that Beth won't bother anymore.

 _I was better than you before I had a gym_ , Beth wants to say. _You aren't taking away anything that matters_.

It would be a lie, of course. Anything else would just disappoint Coach.

On the other hand, it might be fun to disappoint Coach on purpose for once.

In the mirror, her reflection smirks back at her, raccoon-eyed from all the mascara. One day she's going to walk out of here like this, she thinks, just to see what happens. What everyone else will think when they see what she really is, when she thinks hard about what she wants to be - scary without being cheer-scary, scary without being understandable.

Except to those who mattered. Addy would do it with her, for her, like they used to do each other's Halloween makeup: silly when they were younger, slutty when they realised how much they liked the looks they got. They never thought too hard about how much they liked looking at each other - it was never the sort of thing that mattered, not until Coach started only looking at Addy.

Beth sighs and snaps the water off, wincing as the metal burns against her hand. She'd long since stepped out of the full spray, letting the steam fill up the room like her own personal kingdom, and she's unprepared for the heat. It's a good burn, though, the flash of - _yes, this is still my body, yes, it can still cause pain_.

Better this than what Addy's done to her heart - what else Addy would do, given the chance, what else Addy _will_ do, pliant under Coach's hands.

It's not jealousy, she tells herself, wrapping her hand back around the handle. Cooling now, but the heat's still there, enough that she closes her eyes and breathes through it, _one, two, three, four, five_ , and she should let go, _seven, eight, nine_ , and there's footsteps, the creak of the door, and Beth lets go, sinks against the side wall of the shower cubicle and presses her burning palm to her thigh. The only other people who would be here this late were Addy, who would have texted first, and Coach, who wouldn't be coming in here at all, and -

It's both of them. In sports bras and leggings, the kind of matching that's not a coincidence because every fucking girl on the team wears the same usually-shoplifted Lululemon outfits but that they probably made a huge production out of, _can you believe we match, I mean almost, of course yours goes SO much better with your eyes_ , on and on like they're both JV again. Addy wears it better, of course - even Beth has to admit that she looks better now than she ever has with any other coach, all toned calves and firm abs.

She should say something. Remind Addy that she was missing her shift tonight, skulking around like this, ask Coach if her husband knew why she was still at school. The words are there, burning like bile at the back of her throat, and she can't say them. Doesn't know why, except she does - can see Addy's fingers wrapped around Coach's wrist, the shadow of a smile on Coach's lips.

They look happy. They look like they don't know this is wrong.

Beth raises a hand to her mouth, catches sight of the crimson and gold nails a second before her teeth can close over the tips. Addy's art, from the last time she spent the night, before they got too drunk off Lana's vodka to paint straight. Beth's own art is on Addy's nails - Addy's nails, that are trailing up Coach's arms, Addy's nails bright against Coach's cheek.

"I don't know," she's saying. "It's - I don't know, couldn't anyone walk in?"

Beth knows that voice. It's the one Addy uses when she's already made her mind up about something, but she wants Beth to reassure her that it's okay, that they definitely should steal Lana's pills, or leave the JV's in the old warehouse they used to practise in overnight. It's the voice Addy uses to say: _I shouldn't, but I will, and you will, because it's just us, and only ever us, and nothing can touch us_.

Beth digs her nails into her thigh and she doesn't, doesn't scream as the pain begins to build under her skin.

"Oh, Addy," Coach says, and Beth wants to scream and the condescension in her tone, the pity that Addy's still so blind to. "Everyone's gone, and you know why we can't do this at home."

"I mean," Addy says, and her voice drops lower as she backs against the wall, her profile stark against the tile. Coach steps in front of her, and Beth loses sight of her as the movement takes her behind the partition separation the showers from the rest of the locker room. "I was sort of thinking your office? Lock the door?"

"I didn't take you for the type to get embarrassed, Hanlon." The amusement in her voice is mean, and Beth still can't bring herself to say anything to stop this. If Addy doesn't know by now -

She'll let her do this. Let Addy make her mistakes, let her come back when she realises what she's done. And Beth will make her work for it, because it's the least Addy deserves, after what she's done - what she's going to do - and because Beth has always known this was going to happen.

She's letting this happen. Addy leans back against the wall, legs spread and hips pushed out, her abs flexing as she holds herself up, and Beth stays silent and lets her.

She's doing this on purpose. Trails her eyes over Addy's body, from her abs up over her breasts in their tight spandex, the even tighter tips of her nipples poking through, and up again over her parted lips, her shining eyes. She's doing this on purpose, because if she looks as much as she wants, wherever she wants, she can ignore how it's Coach's hands settling on Addy's hips, Coach's hair obscuring their faces as she tips her head forwards and kisses Addy's open mouth.

It's a deep kiss, not a first kiss and not a practise kiss, and Beth bites her lip so hard that she can taste the blood welling up almost immediately. The last time Addy kissed her like that, she had forgotten about it by morning.

But Addy doesn't look like she's going to forget this - doesn't look like she _wants_ to, and Beth has worked so hard to make sure nothing can hurt her but this, so of course it's this that Addy's throwing in her face.

"- like this," Coach is saying, and Beth realises suddenly that they've still been talking, whispering under the curtain of Coach's hair. "You've never had sex in a locker room before?"

"Uh-uh," Addy says, and then, blush dark on the part of her cheek that Beth can see, "I mean, depends on what we're calling sex, right?"

 _Bitch_ , Beth thinks, because Addy wouldn't have done that with anyone but her, and Beth knows full well they haven't done anything beyond the occasional lingering massages, hands that drifted down below the other's waist when combing the tangles out of their hair. Not even ten year olds would think that counted, in any sense of the word.

Beth sucks the blood from her lip and thinks: _why is being part of her lie so much worse than anything I actually say?_

Addy might know the answer to that, but like fuck is Addy ever going to know about this. Until Beth wants her to at least, and by then this will have been so long ago that she won't care anymore, or, at least, she'll have told herself she doesn't care enough times that it will be true enough that it doesn't matter.

But Coach doesn't notice it's a lie, or an exaggeration, or whatever Addy might call it if one of them pushed her. Blind, arrogant Coach who's so ready to believe that Addy's as coy as she pretends to be, that Coach just laughs, low and sickly sweet, and her hand is already down the front of Addy's leggings, her fingers obscene where they push out the fabric.

Beth wonders if Addy's wearing underwear. Beth wonders why neither of them have looked over - they could see her through the thinning steam, if they tried, could hear her breath and the slick sound of her ass on the tile as she shifts because - fuck, watching them has gone straight to her cunt where it throbs with all her hatred, all the other things she's still not fucking saying.

She could have a decade's worth of blackmail material. She could have Addy back at her side, she could have Coach out of Sutton Grove forever, and all she has to do is say - it doesn't even matter what, anything would be enough to get them to notice her. 

Look at me, she thinks, and it's never felt so desperate, or so useless. Look at me, but her body, her mouth, is done doing what she asks of it.

She slips a hand between her legs, finds herself slick from more than just the shower. Look at me, she thinks, and isn't sure which one of them she means. But if she does this, if she touches herself while she's watching, maybe it doesn't matter.

She's letting them do this. Coach's lips are on Addy's neck now, maybe leaving lipstick marks, maybe biting down. Beth pinches her clit between her middle and ring fingers and wonders how many fingers Coach has inside Addy now, if she has any at all, given a how small a space she has to work with.

 _Show-off_ , Beth thinks, _thinks she can do this blind, thinks a girl is a girl is a girl_. She would know what to do for Addy, knows her body almost as well as she knows her own, even if they've never done this. She rubs circles around her clit in time with Addy's soft gasps, imagines it's Addy's cunt under her fingers instead. She's doing this on purpose, because she wants to know what Addy sounds like, wants to know that Coach really is as awful as she acts.

And it's right, and it isn't, because Addy is getting quieter and quieter, and Coach is murmuring soft but indistinct words into her ear too quiet for Beth to hear, and it's the sort of thing that shouldn't be tender but looks like it anyway, and they don't know.

They're not looking at her.

Beth comes anyway, before either of them do.

She isn't even crying.


End file.
